


the heart replies

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Horror, Confessional Sex, Deaf Character, F/M, Love Confessions, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Mild Language, Sexual Content, character with a disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But if Varric could write an entire novel of torrid, terrible smut for her at a singular person's request, Cassandra could put her feelings to paper, if only so he would know.</i>
</p><p>Or: The one where I read a summary and thought it could use more ANGST and also some adaptability feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart replies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vehlr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/gifts).



> UM. 
> 
> Sorry not sorry.
> 
> (I hope the tags clear up any uncertainties, but if they do not, there is hearing loss in this fic that is associated with physical trauma.)

_There is in souls a sympathy with sounds_  
_And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased_  
_With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave;_  
_Some chord in unison with what we hear_  
_Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies._ \-- William Cowper

* * *

From the highest pitch of a nightmare, Cassandra woke.

The noise caught in her throat sounded like a dragonling dying, and she felt her body shiver, sweat-slicked skin exposed to the night air. She'd fallen asleep in her chair with the window open, her threadbare tunic a pitiful defense against the cold of the mountains around them. Shuddering, she sat up and set her book aside, before reaching up to pull the window shut. It was late, likely after midnight, and the keep was still under the sliver of moonlight. Cassandra looked to her bed -- some weeks ago, a proper one had arrived at Skyhold for her in the dead of night while she was in the Emerald Graves. She knew Leliana had the name of exactly who had bought it, and Cassandra had her suspicions, but she said nothing. It was comfortable, she'd admit that, but she wouldn't sleep, now, and so she dressed and headed down the stairs, past the dying fires of the forge, and began her inspections early.

It was times like these, when she was deceitfully alone, that she felt truly at peace. Whatever she had been dreaming of escaped her, now, and it was probably for the best. She could only remember sadness, unbearable and infinite, as she did many times in the morning. Walking slowly through the courtyard, Cassandra made her way toward the sparring ring -- the practice swords needed to be counted, the dummies needed to be repaired, and when the sun rose, the new recruits would need to be on their feet. More would arrive, and Cassandra needed to meet with Cullen, needed to get more supplies from Josephine, needed -- 

"Seeker?"

Cassandra turned, and found Varric standing behind her, hands slipped under the sash around his waist. He was smiling, and Cassandra couldn't help but smile back. He did that to her, these days. It surprised her.

"Do you sleep, Varric?"

"I was just about to ask you the same question." He sauntered over and came to lean against the fence around the sparring ring. "Good night to do menial labor, huh?"

"I...could not sleep." 

"I get that." Of the very slowly growing list of things Cassandra _did_ enjoy about Varric, the fact that he did not ask too many questions was one of them. He pried when he felt it was necessary, and held back when he knew it would get him nowhere. Cassandra did not feel compelled to discuss nightmares with someone who had never had one, particularly ones she could not recall. Instead, she kept on working, while Varric kept on watching, and he seemed as content as she to pass the time in silence. Eventually, though, he cleared his throat and smiled at her. "You know it's two in the morning, Seeker."

"Is it?"

"Well, I'd go into some sort of bullshit story about the moon and shadows and all that, but I happen to know the exact time, and you happen to be sewing up practice dummies in some pretty shite moonlight."

"It is not so bad."

"It's terrible, Seeker. I don't suppose I could talk you into taking a walk with me instead, could I?"

Cassandra turned to say _no, absolutely not_ , but stopped. His face was open and honest, and when he looked back at her, there was a bizarre glimmer of something she suddenly, _desperately_ wanted to call hope -- and hope for what, she wanted to ask herself, but did not. Sighing, she set down her things and nodded. "Yes," she said. "I think you could."

"Lucky for me then. I didn't really have a solid argument planned out." They began walking away from the ring, meandering slowly through the courtyard, their voices low. The tavern was still bright and loud with the Chargers and some of the scouts celebrating -- Trevelyan had done, from what Cassandra had heard, some rather fancy footwork around a dragon in the Approach. She had not gone, had not been asked and would have said no if the boy had suggested it, and was glad for it now. 

"Sparkler said it was a sight," Varric murmured as they passed by. They circled Cassandra's usual spot, and she threw a glance up toward her closed window, wondering if the feeling of the nightmare lingered. "Look at that. Right where you're supposed to be."

"I am not tired, Varric," she said, after realizing she'd been duped into walking back to her room. "And I will not be cajoled into going back to sleep." She scowled. " _You_ are awake."

"I am also sometimes a hypocrite," he said, shrugging. "But I've been called worse. You look tired, Cassandra. Let me walk you upstairs." 

The casual use of her name threw Cassandra off balance, and she nodded as he opened the door to the empty forge and let her lead the way upstairs. The place had finally cleared of the bad feeling, but Cassandra was weary of being alone. She didn't often let a nightmare shake her, but Varric was so close, and she could feel the warmth rolling off of him in waves, and the words came out before she could stop them. "Would you stay for a bit?" A cough. "Please."

Varric paused at the top of the stairs, his body half open to her. His eyes narrowed, as though sensing for the trap that she would not dare set for him -- not now. Not after everything. After a moment, he seemed to soften, and turned to her completely with a nod. "Alright. Considering you're the one with the fancy new bed and all."

"Yes, the one you continue to claim you know nothing about."

"Seeker, if I knew a damn thing about beds, I'd sure as hell have gotten myself a new one." Carefully, he seated himself on the edge of one side as Cassandra bent down to pull off her boots. "Okay. Boots off."

"You will not sleep in the fancy new bed while wearing your shoes, Varric."

"Right."

"Ugh. Do not be a _child_ about it."

"No, it's just me and the woman who tried to strangle me, _in this building_ I might add, sharing a bed. Totally relaxed."

Cassandra huffed and, tired of listening to him debate the issue, pulled him into bed. "Are you quite finished?"

"I am."

"Good. Now go to sleep."

 

 

 

When Cassandra woke, it was hardly daybreak. She could feel something warm against the back of her neck, but decided to ignore it for the time being and pushed deeper into her blankets. For a moment, she thought about what could be settled behind her, and remembered quickly that it was a _who_ , and that she had invited Varric into her bed under absolutely no pretenses, and was now being delicately spooned. By accident, of course. Cassandra assumed Varric would hate to be accused of such behavior, but he could, perhaps, surprise her. 

"Stop moving," he muttered suddenly against her neck. It _tickled_ , the little huff of laughter that it forced out of her seemed to surprise them both, because Varric pulled back and said, "Are you _ticklish_ , Seeker?"

"Tell no one."

"Oh, believe me. I'll keep it to myself. Right up until I craft your big exposé ."

"I do not believe you."

"Promise," he said, leaning closer and blowing cool air on the back of her neck. Cassandra laughed out loud, this time, and wrenched away from him. " _Ha!_ " Varric sat up, now, and looked down at her. Cassandra met his gaze, feeling trapped between his body and the bed, and not particularly disliking it. Figuring her gut could not fail her now, Cassandra lifted herself and allowed their mouths to meet, giving him a moment to think about it before sliding her tongue against his lips. She met no resistance. Varric kissed her back as the sun rose behind his head, and Cassandra felt rested for the first time in weeks.

 

 

 

After that, there was little time for sharing beds and lips and secrets. They grew busier each day, until there came to be weeks where Cassandra saw Varric once or twice in passing every few days or so. It felt like a grasp of fingers, like water sliding through cupped hands. She saw him, looked for him, and then he was gone. 

She was not with them, then, when it happened. 

She was at Skyhold, meeting with Cullen and the Knight-Templar Barris for the fourth time in three days. There were dozens of preparations to be made, so many orders and requisitions to fill, too many bellies to feed. A young scout interrupted them on the tail end of a meeting and informed Cullen and Cassandra that there had been an incident in the Emerald Graves, and the Inquisitor was an hour out, but the party was alive.

"Who was with him?"

"The Iron Bull and Masters Pavus and Tethras, sir. Tethras is injured, sir"

Cassandra felt the strangest knot suddenly grip her stomach, but no one noticed her silent terror. Cullen cut the meeting short, and he and Barris left the war room, leaving Cassandra alone with her fear. It was unfounded, she knew this, and what in the Maker's name was she truly afraid _of?_ She had not made love to Varric. She had hardly kissed him, and only once, in the bed he had bought for her, because he saw her press the heel of her hand to her back one time during a meeting. And Maker take him it had helped. It had all _helped_ \-- the book he wrote her and the bed he bought her and the sweets he stole for her from the kitchen. He had stealthily and carefully endeared himself to her and now, _now_ \-- she found herself losing her footing and sliding to the floor.

The scout's words rang in her ears. What did _hurt_ mean? What did any of it mean? She breathed, closed her eyes, felt panic for the first time in so long.

But she was, still, exactly who she was. Cassandra allowed herself another moment of weakness before she rose from the floor and went out to continue her day. It was less than an hour when the Inquisitor returned, pushing his horse to the limit. It skittered in the dirt and nearly threw him off as Dorian and Bull rode up behind him. Cassandra looked for Varric's pony and found it trailing at the end of the line, riderless. 

"Get this dwarf a healer!" Bull roared. "And do it now!" He carried Varric in his arms, and Cassandra found herself following them without question, grabbing Dorian by the arm.

"What _happened?_ "

"It is not as bad as--"

" _Tell me._ "

Dorian's face was pale, and his words were rushed and slurred. "We were ambushed. It was awful, there was so much blood, Maker, so _much_ of it--" Cassandra realized his robes were soaked with the stuff, and he nursed his side, obviously wounded. Quickly, she took his arm and hauled it around her shoulders, helping him toward the infirmary. "Even Bull's hurt. He won't say anything, and Max'll _kill_ him later for it."

"The Inquisitor--"

"Fine. Hurt, but fine."

"And...and Varric?"

Dorian's face fell. "I don't know. I honestly don't _know._ There was so much noise, and then there was just _silence_. There was a blast. The rocks exploded, the ground was on _fire_. It rained, did you know that? Maker, all this happened at once and there was so much _blood_ \--"

"Dorian!" Maxwell's face appeared in the doorway to the infirmary. "Get in here and lie down, you need a healer--"

" _And_ you," Dorian spat. "You're bleeding all over these nice wood floors."

Maxwell scowled and turned to the mage hovering over Varric. Cassandra could see him better, now -- his tunic was burnt and falling apart, but his face seemed unharmed, apart from the soot covering his cheeks and forehead. But it was the blood that made her look twice. The blood that had stained the sides of his head and neck, dripping from his ears. Cassandra let the healer take Dorian, and stood at the foot of the bed, watching.

"--nothing I can do for that, but I'll try what I can--"

"You can't just let it _happen!_ We've barely been traveling an hour since the explosion--"

"Trauma is not so easily reversed, Inquisitor. I cannot simply restore the tissue to its original--"

" _Agh!_ Mages! What's the _point_ of you?" The Inquisitor stormed off, ignoring the young woman who insisted he needed attention. The healer standing with Varric seemed unfazed, and Trevelyan would likely come back and apologize later. He was young, sarcastic, and as quick to eat crow as he was to burst. Cassandra twisted her hands, watching the healer work. He glanced at her and gave her a weak smile before returning his attentions to Varric.

"Is he...is he alright?"

"For the most part. It's these ears I worry about. I'm doing what I can--"

"The Inquisitor knows that."

"Yes, I'm sure he does. But there's been significant damage done here. And with magic."

"It is a curse?"

"No. Just...a wound. A very raw, very delicate wound. I'm afraid he won't hear much after this."

Cassandra felt her stomach _twist_. "He won't...I don't understand."

"A very powerful magic caused the blast. The blast and the magic within it wounded the flesh _inside_ \--"

"I understand how _that_ works," Cassandra snapped. "But why can't his hearing be...maintained?"

The healer sighed. Cassandra suspected he grew tired of trying to explain magic and all the great and terrible things it could do to a man. She'd seen soldiers blinded by it, silenced by it, subjected to perpetual nightmares by it -- and no amount _of_ it could undo the damage. 

"I will do what I can," he said, because it was probably easier than telling her he didn't know. 

 

 

 

Cassandra only pretended that she could care less for Varric's recovery for an hour after he was returned before she set up a chair by his bed. She spent a little over an hour each day, reading to herself, and then to him, before going back to her duties. He was unconscious for almost a week, and she was asleep when he awoke for the first time in the middle of the night. Dorian had been there. He told her it wasn't pretty.

By the time Cassandra got to him that morning, he was in a state. The younger healers had abandoned him, and he was preparing to tear through the veterans. Cassandra could hear him several feet outside the infirmary, and when she arrived, something flew past her and smashed into the wall. Varric was sitting up in bed, shouting at anyone who came near him. He looked wild, and unwell, and Cassandra thought if she didn't know it was him she would not have recognized him at all. 

But he saw her. He saw her and he calmed down, almost right away. "Seeker--" His voice was raspy and far too loud. "Cassandra, I--"

"He can't hear us," the healer from that first day explained. "I told the Inquisitor, and I've told everyone else."

"It cannot be repaired."

"The damage is severe. I've restored what I can. He is, apparently, hearing us in whispers, but I do not know how long that will last. He's also told me the ringing is unbearable. I think it, too, will pass." 

" _Seeker._ " 

For a moment, Cassandra considered leaving. The sound of his voice broke her heart. It was loud, and wanting. She stepped closer, and the healer and his people disappeared, leaving them alone. Varric reached for her and Cassandra took him, climbing into the bed and clutching him to her chest. 

"I can't _hear_ you." He was quieter, now, but not himself. "Seeker, I can't hear _anything._ "

"Please, _please_ , Varric--"

"I don't know what's happening. I don't--"

"Don't say this, please, do not--"

"I'm _scared_. Cassandra I--"

She kissed him. She pulled him to her and kissed him and remembered the moment he'd woken her up so many days before, the way his mouth felt on her neck and the tickle of his breath on her skin.

She would take him back to that. She would take them both back to that. 

 

 

 

Over the next two weeks, Varric's hearing did not improve. It worsened, and every day, he grew quieter. He'd realized he'd been shouting, and if there was a thing Varric detested, it was shouting. Cassandra watched him shrink into something different, watched him become someone she did not know, and eventually, could not understand.

She couldn't speak to him, because he couldn't hear. He couldn't speak because he didn't have the words. They were mismatched in a terrible place, and the balance they'd crafted was so hard to remember, so hard to retain. 

It was not the fact that he couldn't hear that troubled her. That wasn't something that bothered her. She could work around that. She was falling in love with him anyway, and that happened to be incidental. It wasn't even that he had stopped speaking, because it was the same. 

It was that he hid from her. Flinched when she touched him. Did not respond when she tried to bring him to her bed. 

She wept in the garden at night, alone until she was not." 

"He wants to touch you, wants to reach out and comfort you, but he hates what he's become."

"Cole."

"He made a mistake and he feels like a fool--"

"The blast was not his--"

"The mistake is he did not tell you before this. And now he wonders if he'll ever have the chance." Cole shook his head. "Someone needs to tell him. He can do this, still. He can hear without ears. He can speak without a voice."

"How? Through you?"

"No. He can learn. He already knows how. His people have learned to adapt to a changing world. He may have been born above ground, but their memory lives in his blood."

"I do not understand."

"Adapt or die," Cole said. "It is a necessity. He must learn. The healers will not restore his lost sense. He will have to make due without it."

 

 

 

Dorian was nodding off in the library when Cassandra came to him, and he sat up quickly, leaning forward on the little table. "You look _awful_."

"I need you to help me."

"Alright."

"I want...there must be a way that Varric can speak to me. He will not. He will speak to no one. I cannot get him to walk with me, and the Inquisitor--"

"I've actually...been looking into this." Dorian rubbed the back of his neck and reached down to lift a book from the floor. "There's magic, obviously, that does some speaking. Silly puppetry, all of it terrible and silly and possibly blood magic." Cassandra scowled. "Yes, I _know_. That's what I said." He sighed. "There are _physical_ ways of displaying language, you know. Touch and sex and all the fun things. You could try that."

"You are useless."

"Today, perhaps. Maybe tomorrow I won't be." Dorian folded his arms over his chest. "I know this is hard for you, Cassandra. And I'm sorry that it happened, truly I am." He stood and looked to the shelves again before reaching up and pulling down a book. "You know, there _is_ still a way you can tell him what you feel."

"Maker, Dorian, how would I--"

"You're upset and you're not sleeping, so I'll blame your oversight on that." He handed her a book. "You should know, though, better than anyone."

Cassandra frowned, turning the book over in her hands to look at the cover. "Oh," she said, her cheeks flushing.

"As I said. We'll blame exhaustion. And rightfully so, you look terrible, have I mentioned that?"

"Yes." She handed him the book. "But I have work to do."

"Indeed. Good luck, and let me know how it goes!" he shouted after her as she began to rush down the stairs.

Of _course_ , why hadn't she thought of it before? Asking _Varric_ to do it was one thing, but doing this herself -- Maker, it would prove so much. It would tell him everything, if she could only do it _right._ It had to be right. It had to be perfect. She was not so naturally inclined to do as he did, to be as _good_ at it as he was.

But if Varric could write an entire novel of torrid, terrible smut for her at a singular person's request, Cassandra could put her feelings to paper, if only so he would know.

 

 

 

It took time for Cassandra to do what she wanted. In between her talk with Dorian and finally finishing it, Varric had emerged a bit from his self-imposed cocoon and was attempting to find some kind of middle ground between his old way of doing things and the way he had to do them now. Cassandra watched him order at the tavern, engage with the Chargers as best he could. He had not lost his speech, but it still erupted too loud, sometimes, and the expressions of those around him seemed to be enough to goad him into silence again. 

"He is ashamed he cannot control himself," Cole said.

"He has nothing to be ashamed of."

"Have you written that into your story?"

"How did you...ugh." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I have tried my best, Cole."

He smiled. "That's all you need to do. He misses you," Cole added quietly. "I think he'll be grateful for it. You should take him somewhere quiet." Cassandra turned to ask him where, but he had gone. 

Eventually, she stood and crossed the tavern to where Varric was sitting alone. His tankard was empty, and she knew he didn't have the energy to try and ask for more. He glanced up at her when she came over, immediately looking away. But Cassandra wouldn't have it. She reached down and took his chin in her hand, saying clearly and slowly, "Come with me." Varric blinked, staring up at her for a moment before he stood, carefully trailing behind her as they left the tavern. She made her way across the grass to the forge, leading him up the stairs to her room. She lit a candle as they reached the top and set it on the table with a few more before pointing to her reading chair. Varric huffed and sat, looking like he wanted to clamor out the window. "Please," she said. Maybe he understood, maybe he didn't, but his face softened and he gave her a weak smile. 

Cassandra dug into her papers at her little desk and unearthed what she had been writing for so many days. She looked at it, the meager pages that had taken so long, and almost burned them.

But she could not. She _would not_ , and before she could change her mind, she crossed the room and thrust the papers into his hands. "Here." Varric looked at her, confused, and she shook them. Carefully, leaned back to read.

 

_To say that she did not love him would be a lie of the greatest caliber, and Mara was not a liar. She prided herself on her honesty, on her blatant and sometimes wretched truthfulness that so often got her into trouble. But it was so hard to tell him, so hard to speak words she wasn't even sure he would understand. Why was it that language divided them? Why was it they could not speak their minds without being lost in the tangle of rhetoric? Did she not love Balen truly? All they had between them was touch, the chance to lean in to one another by an open flame, the stolen moments before a fight when he would reach for her and stroke her cheek, and she would know, with every beat of her heart, that he loved her._

 

Cassandra did not write often, and did not consider herself adept at it. She was embarrassed by what she'd finally managed to scribble down, but Varric read all of it, glancing at her occasionally with a smile, before he finally set it aside. She saw no point is speaking to him, and for a while, they held each other's gaze, Cassandra seated on the floor at his feet. Varric slid from the chair to the floor in front of her, reaching out to draw her close. It had been so long since he'd held her that first time, and her body ached for what she knew so little of.

His touch, his hands, the scent of his clothes -- 

He kissed her, so different from when she'd kissed him in the infirmary. So different from the panicked pressed of her lips to his. He kissed her and made soft noises against her mouth, testing it. Cassandra understood. She opened her mouth wider for him, and he moaned. He could feel it, she realized. Carefully, she stood and guided him toward the bed. They needed to find a way to understand one another, and here, she knew, they could do that. 

Varric undressed her, slowly, reverently. He kissed every inch of her he could, looking up every so often. Carefully, she did the same, until there was nothing between them. Fingers ghosted over her skin, soft pinches and nips of teeth against her neck that drove her wild. She was cautious when she touched him, each brush of a hand a question -- _here? here. not here, but **here**_ \-- until she understood better. 

The slide of his cock into her was slow, indulgent even. Cassandra pressed her mouth to his neck when she moaned, letting him feel her pleasure. She clenched, she gripped his arms, she laid wet, open mouthed kisses on his cheeks and shoulder as he made love to her. He kept his eyes on her, never once looked away, and it sent a jolt through her as he thrust, made her gasp and grip him tighter, wrap her legs around his waist and hold him close. " _Varric--_ " He didn't hear, but he knew. He knew what he was making her feel because he grinned, wicked and pleased as he tipped his forehead to hers. Cassandra couldn't stop the begging, couldn't stop the flood of, "More, _more_ \--" because she was desperate for it. She had needed him for so long and her body had ached for him and now he was here, he was inside in, he _was_ \--

When he came, she screamed, and the smug look on his face told her he'd felt it. 

 

 

 

The first time he said it, he didn't say it at all.

Cassandra woke in his room that morning, sitting up in bed and fumbling for something to wear, instead rolling over onto Varric's chest. He was awake, and smiling, and she kissed him as his cock slipped inside her, filled her slowly with all the warm, honeyed ease of the morning. Something about the brush of his knuckles over her breast made it more urgent, though, and she sat up and took him, moved faster until she was a panting, writhing mess above him. Varric sat up, hands gripping her back as she howled, held him inside her and came. 

When Cassandra looked down, his eyes were glazed with exhaustion and need and adoration and _love_. He _loved_ her, he did, and he couldn't say it, wouldn't be able to hear her say it, but he knew how to tell her anyway. He loved her and she was a mess for him, came for him again and, said it -- "I love you."

He blinked. Cassandra tumbled back and he thrust with his eyes on her until he came, shallow breaths filling the space between them. Slowly he pulled out and fumbled his way to her mouth. "I love you," she said again, and she knew, for sure that time, that he understood her.

 

 

 

_Seeker,_

_When this is over, we're taking a damn vacation. Be safe when you're out there, and be sure to tell Corypheus I said 'fuck you.' I'll do my best to be your eyes in the sky, and if you see an arrow flying into that archdemon's ugly ass, you'll know it's from me. Or Sera, considering she's still bitter about being my ears._

_-V_

_[below is a crude drawing of corypheus with a dozen arrows sticking out his backside, and the words, 'you two are nasty' is scrawled underneath it]_

**Author's Note:**

> I told you this was coming.


End file.
